Come Home
by Lady Marianne
Summary: Pre-Series. Four years after Robin left for the Holy Land, Marian receives word from him. Updated to include Robin and Marian's reunion. Reviews will be greatly appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

**Look who didn't take a million years to post a new story! **

**A few things before we get going: this has nothing to do with _We are Robin Hood_. Sorry. I know I said I might write a few outtakes -and I still intend to, maybe-, but this is not it. This is just a little story that came to me while I was working on something else entirely -how typically me. Both chapters are already written and will be posted in due time, but I'm toying with the idea of adding a third -I don't know yet. It will depend on a number of things. **

**Oh, one more thing! I'm really terrible with titles, so I burrowed this from a song by One Republic. The fic is not inspired by it, but as I was re-listening to it paying attention to the lyrics I realized that it kinda sorta works. There, in case you were wondering.**

**Declaimer: do I really need to tell you I don't own _Robin Hood_? Okay, fine: I don't own _Robin Hood_. Happy now?**

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**COME HOME**

**Chapter I.**

It was a beautiful day in Nottingham. The sun was shining up in the sky, but there was a faint scent of rain still lingering from the day before. It wasn't too cold, though the winter was already in full swing, and a few birds could even be heard chirping nearby.

Marian and her father had just attended the Council of Nobles and had decided to visit the market before going back to Knighton Hall. She walked slightly ahead of him, examining the different shops and he was content just watching her. She looked relaxed, happy. Of course he knew better. Marian hadn't been truly happy in over four years, though she seemed to have achieved something akin peace of mind after a while. In fact, nowadays few people would be able to tell the heartbreak she had been through just by looking at her. But _he_ could –he was her father, after all, and it wasn't as if the feeling was foreign to him; he too had loved and lost once, so he knew what it was like to have one's heart ripped from their chest and shattered into a million little pieces.

Losing Katherine had been the hardest thing that had ever happened to Edward, but he could at least draw some comfort from the fact that he had had her love for a few years and that she had left him with a daughter that resembled her in all the ways that mattered. Marian didn't even have that. The man she loved had left her before their wedding -she had intended to give herself to him -body and soul- and he had rejected her. He had chosen glory over her and Marian had never been able to truly come back from that.

The first year or so had been the hardest, Edward recalled. She had walked around as a ghost, completely oblivious to anything and everything that went on around her except for when a word that sounded remotely similar to his name was uttered in a conversation. She would wake up then, look around herself as if she expected him to show up from just around the corner and it would be as if she lost him all over again. Her father had caught her crying more often than either of them would care to admit and it had broken his heart a little more each time.

But then... She got better. Edward couldn't tell how or when or even _why, _but suddenly he realized that his little girl was back –or at least a little bit of her was. She was more lively, more alert. She would join him in his frequent trips to the castle, she would make small talk with the other ladies when it was required. She even returned to Locksley and struck some sort of friendship with its new lord. His name no longer made her tremble and there were no more tears in her eyes.

And still, Edward knew, something was missing. She was not the same girl -she would never be the same girl.

That's why he enjoyed watching her when she was like this. It was the closest she would ever get to being the young, carefree girl she had once been.

The sound of someone calling his name pulled him from his thoughts and made him turn around. Marian, too, turned to see who it was -she had always been very protective of her father.

There was a man walking in their direction, his left leg limping slightly. He was short and plump and was smiling kindly at the both of them. It was a few moments before Edward could reconcile his face with that of an old friend he hadn't seen in many years.

"William," he cried with delight. "Whatever are you doing here?"

The man didn't reply at first, busy as he was enveloping his friend in a tight hug.

"I thought that was you," he said at last. "You've gotten old, my old friend."

Edward smiled more broadly –that was William, alright. "I don't look older than you. Or fatter."

"True, true," William acknowledged. "The years have not been any kinder to me."

Marian watched them with mild amusement. It wasn't everyday that her father ran into an old friend, so rarely had she been treated to this side of him. It was fun.

"And who is this lovely lady we have here?" William asked, suddenly noticing her.

"My daughter," Edward explained. "Marian."

"Marian? Good God in heaven, I haven't seen you since you were a baby!" He took the hand Marian was offering him and placed a kiss on her palm. "She looks just like Kate," he added to her father.

"Lucky her." Both men laughed loudly at that. "Marian, you remember that story I used to tell you when you were young about the time I got lost in the forest while I was chasing a goat?"

Marian nodded. She loved that story. Her father had used to tell it to her often, trying to get her away from Sherwood. It had never worked out -if anything, it had made her all the more determined to explore it-, but she had really enjoyed listening to him.

"Well, William here was the one who persuaded me to chase the damned beast."

"I resent that! I may have _suggested_ it, but you didn't need to do it."

"You _dared_ me to do it."

"Edward, I was always daring you to do things and most of the times time you sent me on my way. Admit it, the only reason why you agreed to go after that particular goat was because..."

"Okay, I think that's enough for now. What are you doing in Nottingham anyway?"

Marian didn't miss how uncomfortable he suddenly looked, nor the faint pink glow that was now gracing his cheeks.

"Why did he agree to go after that goat?" she asked William.

The man's grin grew wider.

"He didn't tell you? For shame, Edward." He wrapped one of his arms around Marian's shoulders, bended their heads together and talked in a not-so-low whisper. "You see, Marian, it wasn't so much about the goat itself, rather than the house it had escaped _from_."

She gave both of them a puzzled look.

"It was your mother's," Edward finally admitted, looking everywhere but at her. He had always omitted this particular piece of intelligence, not wishing to appear in her daughter's eyes like a foolish kid who had let his hormones get the better of him. She had already had enough of that in her life and the last thing he had wanted was for her to compare him in her mind to the boy who was currently letting _his _hormones get the better of him for her sake. "She had lost it and William convinced me that if I could bring it back to her she would see me in a whole new light. Bear in mind that I was but12 years old then and didn't know any better..."

"You were lost in the forest for two days because you were trying _to impress a girl_?" she asked, unable to hide her laughter.

"He did," William confirmed. And suddenly they were laughing, hard, and if Edward hadn't been so pleased to hear such a sound coming from his daughter's lips after so long he might have taken offence at them.

"Happy now?" he asked William, in what he had meant as a hard tone, though he too was smiling.

"Very."

Marian went back to her shopping then, allowing them some privacy. She was sure she would be seeing William again very soon, for which she was glad. She liked him already.

Sure enough, a few minutes later her father called her over to inform her that his friend would be joining them for supper that evening. They said their goodbyes and parted ways.

Once in their carriage, Edward appeared to be deep in thought.

"William seems nice," Marian said suddenly, eager to break the silence.

"He is," Edward agreed. "It was a surprise to find him in Nottingham -a lovely surprise."

Ever since moving to Nottinghamshire shortly after Kate's death, he had lost touch with most of his childhood friends. He had never cared too much, content with the life he had made for himself and his daughter. However, he had to admit, running into William had been surprisingly enjoyable. He had never realized how much he had missed him. The only problem was that his friend had always been prone to getting him in trouble, and although he was determined that he would not be chasing after any sort of animal any time soon, there was a certain uneasiness he couldn't completely shake off.

Back at the house, Marian embraced her role as lady of the manor and made sure everything was perfect by the time William knocked on their door. Watching her talking to their cook, it suddenly dawn on Edward that it had been selfish of him to invite William before checking with her.

"Don't worry," she said dismissively. "I don't mind. And it's been so long since someone's visited us..." As a matter of fact, ever since Gisborne had come down with the flu she couldn't remember the last time someone had paid them a call.

William was punctual. He and Edward were soon deep in conversation, the former filling his friend into the life of those he had left behind in his home town while his host listened attentively. Marian let them be, grateful for the opportunity to be left alone with her thoughts.

Edward may be clueless as to why this new Marian had suddenly risen from the ashes of her former self, but it was pretty clear in her mind. About two years ago, a certain illness had spread around Nottingham -a simple flu, nothing that couldn't be easily treated. Marian herself had fallen ill for a few days. A week later, her cook hadn't gone to work one day. She had asked the physician that still visited her if he knew anything about it. He had told her that Sarah's daughter was seriously ill. So, that night, she had climbed on her horse and rode into Nottingham to visit and take what was leftover her medicine. The girl had looked at her with such shock that it had made her wonder what the big deal was. And then she had realized that Nottingham had been going to pieces while she had been too selfish to notice.

Something had snapped into place then –she realized she could go to war too, a war far more important than that raging in the Holy Land. She would fight against poverty and injustice; she would fight for those no one fought for. So she had closed the door on her past -buried his memory as deep as she was certain his body must already be buried- and focused her attention on what really mattered: the present; Nottingham's present. She resolved to help out whatever way she could, so by day she collected food and medicines and whatever gold she could find, and by night she rode around the shire lending a helping hand. They even gave her a name, and she couldn't help but smile every time she heard it whispered around the town.

She never told anyone any of this, knowing that no one would understand her need to take a more proactive stance against injustice. She had never had many friends, and her father would only worry if he were to learn about the Nightwatchman. Worried and horrified. Such was not the proper behaviour for a lady, he would say.

But the thing was -Marian had never been fond of ladylike behaviour. Sure, she could certainly act the part when it was required, but that was not who she was on the inside.

One man alone knew this -knew her real self. He had been the one who taught her to fight and to shoot; with him she had first explored Sherwood; he had never minded when she rode her horse like a man and he had even occasionally lend her some of his clothes so that her father wouldn't get suspicious if her dresses got dirty or even torn. He had never asked her to act like a lady and she had never felt the need to hide from him. When he had asked her to marry him, he knew that she would never be the perfect wife; he said he didn't want the perfect wife -he wanted her.

He had been her best friend, and she had loved him more than she had thought possible. She had given him her heart and her hand. She would have given him much more, if only he had asked.

But he never did. He didn't even want what was already his.

He gave back her hand, but he took her heart when he left -Marian wouldn't have it any other way.

She had grown over him, she really had. Four years he had been gone and she was certain he was not coming back. She understood this; she had accepted this.

But she still missed him. A lot.

When she was the Nightwatchman it was the closest she got to him -the closest she got to being _his_ Marian again. She could feel him next to her as she rode, urging her to go faster. She could hear his laughter in the wind and see his green eyes among the trees. She could forget his idiocy for a while and pretend that everything was alright again.

She could pretend that she was complete again.

Lady by day, vigilante by night... It had worked out for a while. It had allowed her to move on while still hanging on to a tiny bit of her past; it had allowed her to live her life and also carry on a little bit of his. She had taken care of his people -not as their lady, as she had originally intended, but at least as the Nightwatchman. She knew he would be proud of her, wherever he was, and that had made it easier for her to bear with his absence.

And then Gisborne had to go and get sick.

Though she had taken care of the whole shire, she couldn't deny that she was always most comfortable in Locksley. She knew the village like the back of her hand and it was where his presence was most clear. She was always drawn to Locksley. But ever since Gisborne had been confined to the manor she had been somewhat reluctant to make an appearance, lest he happened to catch her there. So far she had only been seen a couple of times and she had no intention of upping that count for now. But she missed it, and she was starting to grow tired of waiting.

It was always hard to plan her next outing when she was alone with her father because he was always so worried when he saw her deep in thought, fearing it was the memory of a certain lord that occupied her mind. But Edward was distracted today, which in turn gave Marian a chance to be distracted herself.

She went over the plans of Locksley manor in her mind. Guy was most likely confined to the upper level of the house, which meant she should be fine, so long as she stayed on the ground floor. She also knew that most of the servants had been laid off, which would make her task easier still. If William didn't stay too long, then maybe Marian would be able to make a short visit to Locksley once Edward went to bed...

"You never told me how you came to know I was in Nottingham," Edward said suddenly, and Marian started paying more attention to their conversation. She was genuinely curious. In almost 20 years, she couldn't ever remember any of her father's friends showing up at their door.

"Oh!" William replied, swallowing a large gulp of his wine. "I almost forgot! Silly me. Another friend of yours pointed me in your direction," he said vaguely.

Edward gave him a puzzled look, so he went on.

"You remember, way back in the day, that I became known around the country for my ability with the sword, don't you?" Edward nodded. "Fought my way to the King's Private Guard," he explained to Marian, noticing he had her attention as well.

"You must have been very good," she replied politely.

"I was! The King came to rely on me." It was clear that he was very proud of this particular achievement. "I served under his command for a few years and it was undoubtedly the proudest moment of my life." he suddenly sighed and his brown eyes took on a darker shade. "And then life happened -I took a sword to my leg and it was determined I would never be able to fight again. I was lost for a while, because for so long that was who I was -a soldier! But then I met and fell in love with a wonderful woman who was fool enough to fall in love with me and gave me a son. You know -_life_."

He paused for a moment and Edward could feel it -the same feeling he would get when he was a little boy and William looked at him in a certain way. Dread. He had no idea _what_ he would say, but he knew -he _knew_\- it would get him in trouble. And yet there was nothing to be done -he could hardly make him stop now.

"About a year ago, I got a message from the King," William continued, oblivious to his friend's sudden horror. "He said he needed me and my men, since he was losing so many of his best soldiers on a daily basis. He remembered I was unfit to fight myself, but he urged me to send someone on my behalf. I did as I was told: I gathered my best men and arranged passage for them. However, when the time came, I couldn't bring myself to send them with only a note and my best wishes –it was _wrong. _So -after promising Mary I would not engage in any kind of fight whatsoever- I joined them and we embarked together towards the Holy Land."

And there it was -William had done it again.

Edward ventured a look in his daughter's direction, half expecting her to be hyperventilating and crying her eyes out, but like she usually did, Marian surprised him. She looked utterly unaffected, though he didn't miss how tightly she was suddenly gripping at her goblet.

What he didn't know was that behind her perfectly well placed mask, Marian was going to pieces.

Never in a million years would she have guessed that this was the direction the conversation was going to take.

She had occasionally dreamt of this moment, especially at the beginning, during that terrible first year. The moment when news from the Holy Land would finally arrive and she would know, once and for all, what had become of the only man she had ever loved. She had thought herself ready for such a moment -she already _knew_ he was dead, surely hearing it from someone else wouldn't be so bad! As it turned out, she had apparently been wrong.

She was terrified.

Marian tried desperately to remind herself that just because William had gone to the Holy Land it didn't mean that he had had any kind of contact with _him._ He had probably been dead for a number of years already, way before the King had even thought of writing to his old general. There was no reason to be worried -his name had no place in this or any other conversation.

"Go on," Edward urged, his eyes never leaving his daughter. (She was determined not to look at him, fearing her face would betray her emotions, so she resolutely kept her head down and continued eating her food as if her stomach wasn't in knots).

"The King was very understanding of my situation. He thanked me for my men and also for my troubles. He even insisted I stayed for supper at their camp and urged me to talk to the new members of his Guard, so they could see there is a life after the war -he thought my presence would help keeping the morale high."

"I ended up having a very pleasant evening," William continued. "It reminded me of my old days at the King's Private Guard, while at the same time proving me how lucky I am to have been able to leave that part of my life behind. Some of the knights there were barely kids, and they've left wives and babies behind. I got to live the best of both worlds, and I really can't complain about how my life turned out."

"You still haven't answered how it is you've found me," Edward reminded his friend, noting with some alarm that Marian had grown very pale.

"I'm getting to that! Anyway, we traded stories, some about the war and some not about the war. I told them about my friend, who was lost in the forest for two days trying to impress a girl -because quite frankly it's one of the better stories in my repertoire- and we all had a good laugh."

"After supper, one of the youngest captains came to see me, and he swore he had heard that story before from the lips of a very old friend of his. He said this man used to tell him this story to prevent him from going too deep into the forest that surrounded his state and he was curious to know whether we were talking about the same man. After a very brief conversation it became very clear that we in fact shared your friendship and he seemed very pleased. Do you know who I'm talking about?"

Edward knew. Other than his daughter he had only told one other kid that story -a kid who, as it happened, used to spend almost every waking moment with Marian.

"I can only think of one young man," he said slowly, gauging Marian's reaction to each of his words. She appeared confused and troubled, but not even remotely close to the breaking point. She looked expectant, as if she needed to hear more. "Robin," he said. "Robin of Locksley."

Marian's heart -which had been beating in overdrive for the last couple of minutes- came to an abrupt halt when she heard his name again. Her father and her had a sort of unspoken agreement: they could speak of him –if they _really_ needed to–, but they couldn't say his name. It was the one thing Marian hadn't allowed herself to do in almost four years, fearing that she wouldn't be able to handle it. She had been right, because all she wanted to do right now was bend over and cry like she hadn't cried in years. But she didn't. There were a few things she needed to clarify before she could allow herself to break down.

"The very same," William agreed, oblivious to the sudden tension both his companions were radiating. "Like I said, he looked exceptionally pleased by the fact that I knew you and he was most helpful filling me in your life of the past 20 years. He was also very insistent that I should come and see you -he said you would appreciate me coming- and urged me to give you his deepest regards. He was most charming, and in the end I found that I couldn't say no to him even if I had wanted to do so."

Marian's lip twitched slightly. She recognized what Robin had tried to do, even if William didn't.

Before he left he had promised to write regularly to her. She had told him not to bother, because he would be dead to her from the moment he left her presence. She had been lying, obviously. It had been her last attempt to hold him back -to make him stay with her. But he had believed her. He had left and she had never heard from him again.

But still, on some level he must have known -must have suspected she was bluffing. His pride had kept him from writing, but William had provided him with a unique opportunity he wasn't about to pass on.

She could hear him as if he was standing right next to her. Behind William's words, the message was clear:_ I'm still standing_, he was telling her -not William, not Edward. It was for her -only her.

"When was this?" she heard herself ask, and she was surprised at how calmed she sounded.

The older man turned in her direction and appeared to consider his answer.

"A few months ago -two, maybe three."

She nodded in acknowledgement and continued eating her meal, all too aware of Edward's worried gaze fixed on her.

The conversation soon took a turn and William all but forgot about Robin of Locksley.

When it was time to go, Edward walked his friend to the front door and hugged him tightly. He sent his regards to his wife and promised to keep in touch. When he returned to the living area he found Marian sitting on her usual sit by the fire, busying herself with her embroidery. He watched her from the threshold for a while, wondering if they should talk about what William had told them or if he should better let her be.

Marian was not oblivious to his dilemma.

"I'm fine," she said, her eyes still averted, hoping it was enough to put an end to the subject. She didn't feel like talking about him -not here, not with her father. She needed a moment to process what she had just learned, but she had to be alone for that. Edward couldn't know how much Robin of Locksley still affected her -no one could.

The man was not fooled, but he decided to allow her this one small victory. Besides, he had to agree, he wasn't particularly excited about opening the door she had obviously closed on her former betrothed. If she thought she could handle it -well, he would take her word for it. At least for now.

"You know I'm here if you need me, don't you?" he said, needing to comfort her in some small way.

She turned her clear eyes in his direction and he was surprised at what he found when he looked into them. It was buried deep, partially hidden by a troubled look; he doubted she was even aware of it, but Marian's eyes were dancing with joy. Edward almost gasped out loud; it'd been so long since she looked like this.

"I know," she replied, shooting him a small smile. "Thank you."

She stayed with him for a while longer hoping her seemingly collected manner convinced him that she was actually all right. She finally could take no more and excused herself. She didn't miss that his eyes were following her every move, so she worked to keep her strides graceful as she climbed upstairs. Once she was safely hidden from view, she all but ran to her bedroom, locking the door behind her.

She collapsed on her bed, dressed as she was, and laid on her back for a long moment staring at the ceiling. Then she sighed and forced the words that had been dancing around her mind for the past hour to pass her lips.

"Robin is alive."

There, the words were out. She had acknowledged them. Now what?

Her breathing suddenly became shallow and it was a moment before she realized that she was laughing -really laughing. The sound was foreign in her ears since it'd been so long since she had had a reason to laugh. And yet here she was now.

She struggled to sit up on the bed and folded her legs under her. Not for a second did the laughter stop.

_Robin is alive_, she thought again, and she laughed harder.

For the last three years she had operated under the assumption that he was dead -it was the only way she had found she could move on. She had tried being hopeful for about a year and it had almost killed her. She couldn't live her life as if she expected Robin to be perched by her window every time that she entered the room -she just couldn't. And so she had told herself time and time again that he had died, that he was never coming back, that she had to let him go. She had tried to convince herself that he was a part of her past -she had tried and she had succeeded. Robin was dead.

But he wasn't. He hadn't been.

Robin was alive.

Some part of her mind -the part that was still thinking rationally- tried to remind herself that they didn't know anything for sure -that just because Robin had been alive two or three months ago, it didn't mean he still was. A lot could have happened in such a long period of time and there was every chance he _was_ dead by now. But it didn't work because deep down she knew -she _knew_\- he was still alive. He wouldn't have sent her that message if he wasn't confident he would still be alive by the time she got it.

He had survived for over four years. If he had made it for that long, then he certainly must have made it through a couple more months. And if he's made it for a couple more months, then maybe...

Her laughter stopped as she realized the direction her thoughts were turning. No, she would not go there. She would not let herself believe that Robin might be coming back. She couldn't put herself through that again -she couldn't lose him again.

She wiped the tears that had suddenly started to fall from her eyes. Stupid Marian -and stupid _Robin_, too. Why, oh why, did he still have this effect on her?

The answer to that was quite simple, she realized with a sigh. It was because she was in love with him -always and forever. He could go ahead and sign himself up for every stupid war, he could break her heart time and time again, he could do all the stupid things in the book. And yet the fact remained that Marian loved him -and he loved her too, she knew. He had a twisted way of showing it, but she _knew_. The way he treated her as kids -like his equal, not as his inferior just because she was a girl- told her he loved her; the fact that he went through great lengths to inform her he was still alive confirmed that he still did.

For a minute she allowed this knowledge -that he was still alive, that he still loved her, that he had every intention to make his way back to her- to ran freely through her veins and she relaxed visibly -relaxed in a way that she hadn't done in over four years. But then reality came crushing back to her.

Because even if he _was_ alive, even if he _did_ return, even if he _did_ apologize for leaving -the fact remained that he _had_ left, that he _had_ broken her heart. And Marian would not -_could_ not- sit idly by and allow herself to be walked over by a boy who had been too proud to see the error in his ways before it was too late.

And it _was_ too late now. Robin and her -that was over. They were over.

They had to be -for her sake.

She collapsed back on her bed and she realized with some surprise that she was in fact much calmer than she had thought she would be. It had been good to think about Robin again -it had given her a chance to sort out her feelings. She was confident now that the next time she heard from him she would be prepared for everything, whether it be good news or bad news.

She was ready to move on -this time for real.

Her dreams betrayed her, though. That night, as she slept, she saw him walking up to her house, thinner than he had been, his skin darker than it had been, but still unmistakably him. She would see him from inside her house and she would run out to meet him. He would shoot her one of his signature grins and she would see his relief at finding her there. He would open her arms and she would jump into them, hanging tightly to him to prevent him from leaving her again. He would hold her tightly as she cried and once she was calmed enough he would promise her that he never would, that he loved her and that he intended to stay with her for the rest of his days, whether she wanted him to or not.

She would laugh, because he would be home. In her dream, he had come home.

Little did she now that many miles away, in a small tent in the middle of the desert, a fever-ridden Robin of Locksley was dreaming of the very same thing.

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**I know this is different from _We are Robin Hood _(though fans of my angsty side should still be pretty satisfied), and after the incredible support I got for that, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous about how it's going to be received. But you know the drill: let me know what you thought, okay? Pretty please?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello. I'm sorry for the delay, really. My computer was stolen -I mean _borrowed- _by my dad and I really didn't feel like editing this from my phone. I hope you stop being angry at me when you realize whose point of view this chapter is written in. I know most of you will appreciate it.**

**I'm going to change the status of this story to "complete" because it kinda is. I'm still working on chapter 3 and I've made more progress with it than I did with the other stories I sort of promised all of you -namely, Robin's deathbed scene for "We are Robin Hood". But I don't want anyone to get their hopes up, because it might still take me a while. Still, keep this story in your alerts if you have it because there _is_ going to be a third chapter.**

**As usual, a very big thanks to each and everyone who's taken the time to read and review this. You can't even begin to imagine what it feels like for me to have people make a fuss about my stories, because the feeling is so foreign to me. I love this fandom, and I love all of you. Honestly.**

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**COME HOME**

**Chapter II.**

He had written to her. Of course he had.

He had written to tell her he had arrived. He told her the journey had been terrible, but that he took great pride in the fact that he hadn't gotten sea-sick. He told her about the heat and the sand -he didn't like it, it got everywhere and he was positive he would never be comfortable again. He told her about the first man he had had to kill, and all that came after him. He told her about the time that Much got food poisoning and about how closed he was getting to the King. He told her he'd been made Captain of the King's very own Private Guards and that people were actually starting to respect him -not just for his birth, but for him, for whom he really was.

He also told her how much he missed her and what an utter fool he had been for leaving her. He told her he loved her -time and time again he told her and he begged for her forgiveness, if not her love back.

He wrote and wrote and wrote. He knew parchment was scarce, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He needed her to know.

He never sent any of his letters, though. Every so often a messenger would come and ask around the camp if there was anything anyone wished to send back to England, but he would always shake his head. After a few times, Much could take no more and asked him about it.

"She said she didn't want me to," he replied calmly. "I'm just doing what she told me to."

"But you _do_ write to her," Much pressed, confused.

"Yes, I do." Noticing his friend perplexity, he went on. "I write to her because I _need_ to write to her -I need to pretend that I haven't royally screwed my one chance at happiness. When I write to her I can pretend that she is still a part of my life and I need that -I _need_ her in my life, Much."

"And why don't you send her your letters? I'm sure, in spite of everything, she'd be glad to know you're okay-"

"Would she?" he asked sardonically. He could clearly remember her face when he told her he was leaving -she had looked as if she could kill him herself and save him the trouble of having to go to the other side of the word. He had no reason to believe she was any less angry at him now than she was then. "It doesn't matter, Much. She said I wasn't a part of her life anymore and the fact remains that I have no right to force myself on her. Just because I need her, it doesn't mean she needs me, and that's... Okay."

"Okay?"

No, of course it wasn't okay. But there was little he could do at this point.

"It has to be. I made my choice." _The wrong one_, he thought bitterly, but it had been his. No one but his pride had forced him to come to this god-forsaken land. No one but him who had chosen to turn his back on the one person he had ever hoped of loving.

It had been an ill-conceived idea from the start -he could see it clearly now. Some old noble made a snide remark about his way of handling things at his state and suddenly he was enrolling to fight in the Holy Land to prove his worth. No wonder her very first reaction when he told her had been laughing –it seemed utterly ridiculous now. But he had made his bed, and now he would have to sleep on it.

She had even offered him a way out -later, when he went to say goodbye. He had told her that he would only be gone for a while -that he would return and they would pick up where they had left off. He had been trying to convince himself more than he was trying to convince her. He had been terrified, but determined not to show it. He _needed_ to go and prove everyone that he was _not_ a kid anymore, that he was more than capable of filling his father's shoes. He needed to prove he was worthy of the role he had in society –worthy of _her_.

He had seen her pain –a pain she had been desperately trying to hide from him–, but he hadn't care. He had told himself that his leaving would ultimately be beneficial for the both of them –that she would come to see his point in the end. He had been delusional, clearly, but at the time it had made perfect sense.

He had made to kiss her goodbye, but she had taken a step back.

She had given him an ultimatum then: stay and be with her or go and lose her forever.

He could have done it –he _should_ have done it.

He should have stayed for her.

He _wanted _to too. Even his body had reacted instinctively to her plead and had relaxed slightly. It would have been the perfect excuse: he had promised himself to her and he couldn't go back on his promise –it wouldn't be honourable. He could have stayed; he could have married her –become one with her body and soul. She could have had his babies and they could have lived happily in Locksley. They could have been a family –one large, happy, loving family. He could have had that.

If he had stayed.

But he hadn't.

He was proud and childish and stupid and completely undeserving of the wonderful creature that was offering herself to him.

And so he had gone, without as much as a backwards glance.

It had taken him all of five minutes to realize what a colossal mistake he had made. As soon as she was out of sight he had started to miss her and it took all of him not to go back to her. But he didn't. He couldn't.

"I think she would appreciate it," Much said confidently. "Hearing from you. She'd be... Relieved."

Of course Much thought like that –he was an optimist, even in the worse of circumstances. He always thought that things would work out in the end, if only one was strong enough to hold on for a little while longer. But Robin was different; Robin knew better. Still, sometimes he wished he could be more like his friend. He wished he could believe for a second that she was still there, still waiting for him. Still loving him. That she would be there when –_if_– he returned and that they could still have the life he had passed on when he left. However, he wasn't a fool –he knew she had probably moved on, and so should he.

But he couldn't.

That was one of the few times Robin allowed himself to talk about her out loud. She was constantly on his mind, but he had never shared her memory with anyone -the other soldiers had asked him if there was anyone waiting for him at home and he had just shaken his head in denial. Even Much stopped bringing her up after a while, noting how dark Robin's expression became when he heard her name.

And so time passed. The war continued raging on. Soldiers came and went -some back home, some to a better place. Robin continued to fight, continued to kill in the name of a god he wasn't entirely certain he still believed in. He rose in ranks quickly and he became indispensable to the King. He made a name for himself -no one could doubt his abilities now; he was no longer a kid who had had to hastily fill in his father's place. He was Robin of Locksley, earl of Huntingdon and Captain of the King's Private Guy.

And yet, if he could give it all back for a chance to look into her bright blue eyes one more time he would do it in a heartbeat.

He missed her.

He kept going. For years and years he fought for his king and his god. And he also fought for her –he fought because no matter how much he tried, a little part of him kept clinging to the idea that she might have been lying when she told him she wouldn't wait for him. A little part of him refused to let her go. It was the image of her, sitting by her bedroom window waiting for him that gave him the strength to keep going –to keep fighting when all he wanted to do was give up already.

He didn't usually allow himself to think of her like that –she had every right to move on; he actually hoped she _had_–, but he couldn't quite ban it from his mind either.

He still wrote to her regularly -at night, when everyone else had gone to bed-, but he never intended to send any of his letters. Instead he stashed them inside his quiver, and it was as if she was with him when he needed her the most.

And then, one day, an old knight was come from England and everything changed.

He wasn't even paying attention to the others, not really. He appreciated what the King was trying to do, but he didn't want nor need to be reminded that there was a life outside the warzone. He had spent almost every waking moment of the last four years trying _not _to think about life back at home. But then he had heard something about a goat and the forest and the dangers of chasing animals after dark and everything stopped. The arrow he had been working on fell to the sand before him and he was suddenly incredibly grateful that Much was still busy in the kitchen and couldn't see him right now.

He argued with himself for about an hour after the man was done with his story. On the one hand, there was every chance that it wasn't even the same story he had been told as a kid. Surely there were plenty of people who had gotten lost in forests chasing after goats. And besides -even if it _was_, what did it mean for him? Probably nothing. It wasn't as if he was bringing him a message from her, right?

And yet he couldn't just ignore this. It might not be anything, but at the same time it was everything. This man probably knew her, and it had been years since he had last talked to someone who did. (He could never confide in Much, knowing it would only pain him to learn how utterly affected he still was by her).

He waited until Sir William was left alone and approached him.

"Hi," he said a little uncertainly. He suddenly felt very reticent, something he wasn't used to feeling. "We met before? My name's Robin."

The man eyed him for a moment.

"Locksley, right?" Robin nodded. "Yeah, I know who you are. I've heard nothing but good things about you. Please, take a sit."

If Robin's heart hadn't been filled by the image of the girl whose father had gotten lost chasing a goat, he might have felt really proud for the compliment. As it was, he couldn't care less.

"What can I do for you?"

"It's about the story you told. The one with the goat?"

The man smiled.

"Oh, yeah. One of my best, if I may say so myself. Edward would disagree, of course, but he's not here, is he? What about that story?"

"You see, the thing is -I think I heard it before. And I was wondering if it would be at all possible that your friend happened to be my friend, you know?"

God did he feel stupid! What could have possibly posses him to do this? What was he expecting? What was he trying to accomplish? Clearly all the fighting and the death and the heat were starting to take its toll on him. He was losing his mind. (He wondered idly what Much would have to say on the matter, if he were ever to learn what he had just done –not that Robin was planning on telling him, though).

"Maybe," William replied politely. "But if it's news from him that you're looking for, I'm afraid I can't help you. I haven't seen Edward in almost 20 years."

Robin nodded. Of course he didn't know -Edward had never mentioned him in fifteen years; why oh why did he think this man would know anything he didn't already know? Idiot!

"However," William continued before Robin could think of an excuse to leave. "I'm very curious as to what happened to him –he wasn't in a very good shape when I last saw him–, so perhaps it could be you that can help me out. First of all tell me, what makes you think we're talking about the same man?"

"Well, other than how similar both stories sound, and the fact my friend's name was also Edward, I really couldn't tell. It's just that everything sounded eerily familiar, you know? It's probably nothing, though. I just got excited thinking about home -that's all. I'm sorry to have wasted your time."

He made it to leave, but William kept him in his place. He was no stranger to what the young man was going through: he too knew that there comes a point in every soldier's life that the absence from home becomes too much to bare. In his experience, talking about it usually helped. Also, all this talk about his old friend had left him feeling genuinely curious, and if there was a chance Robin knew him, he wasn't about to pass on the opportunity to hear a little about him.

"Nonsense! Tell me something: this friend of yours -he must be about my age, is he not? Or else my story wouldn't have made you think of him."

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Good. Now, I've told you already that Edward ended up marrying the girls whose goat he rescued. Was your friend married to someone named Kate?"

"He was a widower. I think his wife's name was Katherine, but she died before they moved to Nottingham. Childbirth, I think. The baby was stillborn."

William considered this information for a while.

"That sounds like Edward," he agreed. "He lost his wife and son in childbirth and moved away shortly after that. But my friend had a daughter, too. I can't remember her name right now, but if you give me a minute I may–"

"Marian," Robin supplied, and he was momentarily distracted by the sound of her name from his lips. It had been a while since he had last allowed himself to think of it, let alone voice it.

"Marian, yes! That was her name." He paused for a moment. "Well, look at that. It would appear as if you were right all along."

"It would appear so," Robin agreed, slightly surprised at this. Maybe his mind wasn't completely gone, then.

"So, what can you tell me about my old friend? Like I said, it's been many years since our paths crossed."

"Well, like I said, he moved to Nottinghamshire and he was made sheriff. He raised his daughter alone and the two of them came to be very respected among their people –or at least they were, four years ago. I really couldn't tell you what became of them after I came here."

"That's okay, you've been more than helpful. You've told me more than I had ever thought of learning from him. We were very close growing up, and I've often regretted not keeping in touch when I had a chance."

A sudden idea popped into Robin's mind. Maybe William's visit hadn't provided him with the information he so anxiously craved, but that didn't mean that it would be a total waste. He could still use him to his advantage, he thought.

"You should go then –to Nottingham."

"What?"

"Edward would love to see you; he's always talked most kindly of you," he lied with ease.

"Really?"

"Yes. I know for a fact that he would be very pleased if you were to visit him. It's been so long since any of his old mates did and I'm certain seeing you would be a most welcomed surprise."

The man considered this for a moment longer. Robin held his gaze, his expression betraying nothing.

The truth was that Edward had never mentioned a Sir William –even when he told his story, he had always talked about "my friend", but Robin had no doubt that he would still be happy to have his friend at his house. Besides, he wasn't doing this for Edward –or William.

This was for her.

It was an impulsive decision –he wasn't even trying to deny it. He had heard her name and suddenly he knew he had to do it, he had to contact her –whichever way he could. It was too late to send his letters now. After being gone for four years, he could hardly tell her about his journey over. Besides, a letter she could burn –a letter she could ignore. He had to make sure she got his message –the only message he was really interested in sending her.

"You should go, and you should tell him that Robin sent you with his deepest regards."

_Tell him I'm still alive_, he finished in his mind.

"I don't know... I'm not certain my wife would approve –I told her I would get straight back."

"And you will, don't worry. If you take the North Road, it will take you straight through Nottingham. I'm sure your wife wouldn't mind if you took one more day to come home to her, especially if she knew it was for a good cause. She must have heard the story about the goat and I bet she's grown quite fond of Edward, am I wrong?"

There was something about the way he talked that made him absolutely irresistible. William was usually a strong-tempered man –once his mind was set on something, it was set. He had come to the Holy Land with a purpose and he had decided he would go straight back home. If it had been anyone else who asked him, he would have probably waved them off. But this wasn't anyone else.

This was Robin.

Besides, was what he was asking so unreasonable? Visiting Edward would probably set him back one day –two at the most. Mary would probably not even notice. And he couldn't deny that he had missed his old friend. Perhaps not enough that he had gone out of his way trying to contact him for the past 20 years, but now that he knew for sure where he was, he couldn't deny that the whole thing sounded... appealing.

"You know, I think I might. Nottingham is only slightly out of my way –I think I could do it. Mary doesn't even need to know..."

Robin breathed a sigh of relief. There. It was done.

William would go to Nottingham and he would tell Edward that Robin was still alive and he in turn would –sooner or later, accidently or on purpose, joyfully or reluctantly– tell Marian. And she would know. She would know he was alive. And that he intended to make his way back to her.

It was with some surprise that he realized this –that by sending William to her he was actually sending her a promise: _I've made it this far, I'll keep going for a while and then I'll go back to you. _

He had never really thought about going back –at least not until the war was over and he could ride into Nottingham next to the King himself. He had always been afraid of what he would find if he did, so he had decided not to think about it until the time came. But he had had enough, apparently. All the fighting and the dead... He was tired and he wanted out. He wanted to go home.

It wasn't even a conscious decision –his heart had made it a long time ago and it was only now that his mind was catching up to him.

He was telling Marian that he wanted to go home –he always told her everything.

With William's promise that he would send his message, Robin felt more at ease than he had felt in years. And he continued to feel like that for many weeks –until he collapsed in the King's tent, clutching his left side where the Saracen had pierced his flesh. His last conscious thought was that it was really rotten luck that he had survived for four years only to die when he was so close to home...

In his dream she was waiting for him. Sitting in her bedroom, gazing out her window. Missing him. She would see him walking to her house and she would run out to meet him, bow in hand. She would be angry at him, she would try to push him away, but he would fall to his knees in front of her, hold her by the waist and told her how incredibly sorry he was for what he had done. She would eventually wrap her arms around his shoulders, press her cheek against the top of his head and she would tell him that he had been an idiot, but that she still loved him nonetheless.

"I've been a fool, Much," he said on one of the rare moments he could stay awake through the fever.

"Yes, you were," his friend replied, pressing a drenched cloth against his forehead. "You should have watched your back –or had someone watch it for you. If you had, then that Saracen wouldn't have caught you off guard and we wouldn't be here right now."

Robin waved an incredibly heavy arm dismissively.

"It's not that. Marian. I shouldn't have told her I was still alive –I should have left her alone."

The cloth slid from his head because Much was suddenly too stunned to keep it in place.

"You wrote to her?" he asked in disbelief, eying his master's quiver wearily.

Robin shook his head. "No. I told William to go to Nottingham. I sent him to her."

"Oh," his friend replied, not knowing what else to say. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was afraid you wouldn't approve," he said, smiling sheepishly.

Much had learned early on that the fever usually brought out Robin's most honest side –the side he had always tried to keep hidden from the world. So, even though his heart ached for his friend, he decided to make the best of a terrible situation and asked a question that had been plaguing at his mind for years.

"You miss her?"

If he were conscious, Robin would probably deny it, but under the present circumstances, he just sighed.

"Yes. I never should have left her. I never should have come here."

It broke Much's heart to hear his master like this. It wasn't as if what he was telling him was exactly _news_ –Much wasn't an idiot, and after almost 10 years he knew Robin better than he even realized. He had known from the get go that he would come to regret his decision –he had still gone with him, because it was his duty to do so, but deep down he had known that sooner rather than later Robin would have to deal with the mess he had gotten himself into and it would be him –Much– who would have to pick up the pieces.

That was why he had tried to get him to write to her at first –in the vague hopes that he could salvage _some_ of his relationship with Marian. But he had given up once he realized that Robin was too proud to even admit how much he missed her.

There had been moments when he had actually believed that perhaps he had been wrong –that Robin could and _had_ redone his life. But then he would hear him calling her name in his sleep and Much knew how wrong he was. They had never talked about this, though; he had never had the heart to confess to his master that he knew he still dreamt of her and Robin had never voluntarily talked about it.

Until now.

"Then you must get better," Much said softly, repositioning the cloth on his master's forehead. "For her. So you can go and tell her yourself that you're fine."

Robin laughed –or at least he tried to laugh; it sounded pained and strangled.

"I think it's a little too late for that, Much."

There was a quiet resignation behind his green eyes and Much suddenly knew what was going on in his friend's mind.

"No," he said resolutely, getting to his feet and taking a step back, horrified. Robin could not do this now –not after all this time, not when they were _so close_ to going back.

He was giving up.

"But _you_ can," he continued, struggling into a sitting position. "You can go back to England and tell her that–"

"No," Much said again. "No, stop this –now. I'm not going back to England without you. I'm not telling Marian that –that you– I'm not telling her _anything_!"

"She _needs_ to know."

"Then _you_ will have to tell her!"

Robin collapsed back on his bunk and Much moved closer to him out of instinct.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I didn't mean to upset you. It's just that –you can't do this to me, Robin! You can't die right now –not after everything we both went through. I need you to keep holding on for a little while longer." He could see that he was slipping, so he tried another avenue. "_Marian _needs you to hold on."

It worked. Robin opened his eyes and focused his tortured gaze on his friend.

"I'm just so... _tired_," he explained. "All the fighting, the death... I can't do it anymore, Much."

"I know you can't –I can't either. That's why you need to get through this –so we can go back home. You want to go home, don't you? To Locksley, to Sherwood... Everyone will be so happy that you're back, Robin! I bet Thornton will have a feast in your honour and there will be pork, and venison, and beef... Oh, what I wouldn't give for some beef right now..." He ventured a glance in his friend's direction and he noticed with some alarm that his eyes were closed again, and his breathing was more laboured. Choking down a sob, he went on. "I'm sure Marian will be there too –even if, you know... She'll want to know you're alright."

He had thought long and hard about the day when he would finally return home. He had played many different scenarios in his mind: most of the time it would be both Robin and him returning together, like they were supposed to. But, occasionally, he would try to imagine what it would be like returning alone, with only the memory of his former master to keep him company. What he would find in Locksley would also change from time to time, but there was one thing that had remained the same in each of his fantasies: Marian would be there –always.

He had thought a lot about her too –tried to imagine what it had become of her life. He had tried to imagine her married to someone else, lady of another manor, but for some reason he couldn't reconcile the image he had of her as a little girl with that of someone else's wife. After all, he had been there through it all: he _knew_ Marian enough to be certain that she would never be happier than she was with Robin.

She was every bit as stubborn as Robin, though, so he was fairly certain she would never admit to missing him –especially when it had been solely his fault that they had spent so much time apart. She would be angry, rightfully so, but most of all she would be relieved. Married or not, she would not rest until she knew her friend was safely home. And if she had gotten Robin's message, then Much was sure that she would be expecting good news and he was certainly not looking forward to being the one who had to tell her that Robin was gone.

"To be perfectly honest," he continued conversationally. "She quite scares me sometimes. She plays the part of innocent, but I _know_ how deadly she can be. That's why I need you to come with me, Robin," he added more seriously. "You're the only one who can stop her when she gets in one of her –murderous moods."

He thought he saw a tiny smile across Robin's face, but he couldn't be sure. When he tried asking him about it, he didn't respond. He was unconscious.

And he continued to be for three whole days. The physician that treated him told Much to prepare himself for the worst.

She was still in his dreams, but he could never reach her, surrounded as he was by fire. The flames were consuming him and every time he tried to take a step towards her, they pushed him back. He tried calling her name, but either she couldn't hear him or she didn't care. He tried to tell her he was sorry, but still she didn't move.

Time passed –how much he couldn't tell. Slowly –oh, so _very_ slowly. If it hadn't been for her presence, he would have imagined he was dead already and this was his own personal hell. But she _was _there, so he knew he was still alive. She had no place in hell.

But then, suddenly, it got marginally better. It was still hot, but not dreadfully so. He still couldn't get closer to her, but at the very least she could hear her.

_Come home_, she was telling him.

He tried to tell her that he couldn't move, but she didn't care.

_Come home to me,_ she said again.

It was hard to tell who looked more surprised when he opened his eyes: Much, at seeing that he had made a full recovery against all odds; or himself, at finding out that the King had gone south and left orders for him to return to England.

"But we don't need to leave right away," the man explained hastily. "We can stay for a few weeks, until we're sure you are alright."

"A few _days_," he corrected him, smiling in a way Much hadn't seen him do in a while. "And then we're going."

"We are?" he was confused; he would have expected more of a fight –he had even spent the last three days compelling a list of reasons why they could _not_ go after the King, thinking that was what Robin would want to do once he woke up.

"We are," he agreed. "To England."

"Really?"

"Yes, Much. We are going home."


	3. Chapter 3

**Do you want to hear the good news or the bad news first? Okay, I'll start with the good news: I did it; I wrote a third chapter for this. Can you believe it? I bet you had all but forgotten about this story by now. I thought so too, because tried as I may, I seemed to be completely stuck with this. Marian's and Robin's reunion is such a big scene that I couldn't settle on how to write it (I have a million half-cooked versions sitting on my computer to prove it). But I pushed through and I _did _it! (FYI, I'm doing a victory dance right about now).**

**Now for the not so good news: it's short -much shorter than the previous chapters. Sorry. **

**And now for the truly terrible news. Get ready, because this is going to hurt. Okay, here it goes: I didn't technically write their reunion, so this isn't the end of this story. I know, I'm _sorry!_ I'm a shameless teaser, I know. This was supposed to be it. I promised you two chapters. Then I promised you a third. Now I'm forcing you to wait for a fourth (which isn't written yet, so I have no idea when it's going to be posted). I'm a horrible, _horrible_ human being. **

**All I can say in my defense is that I had a really hard time picking a point of view, which lead to me having to write both of them. This is Marian's. Robin's should be up sometime before the end of the decade.**

**As usual, feel free to review to yell at me. I deserve it.**

**By the way, ****Art Counterclockwise, if you're reading this: I _told_ you I'd post something soon, see?**

* * *

**Chapter III.**

The news arrived exactly one week before he did.

She hadn't paid much attention to them at first. Over the years she had heard it all: he was dead, he wasn't dead, he was coming back, he had married a Saracen princess and betrayed the King, he had been made prisoner by the Turks... Of course people talked about him –they always had. Even when he was right there, there had always been a certain aura of mystery and greatness surrounding him that had led to all sorts of stories about him. He had never minded –he had actually enjoyed most of them, she knew.

So, even though he had been gone for five years, the stories remained, each grander than the last.

He would be pleased.

At first she had kept track of every story, trying to separate the truth from the lie. Those stories were her only link to him, her only way of knowing what had become of him (every night she would curse that temper of hers –if only she had kept her mouth shut, she could be hearing news directly from him), so of course she would hear them all, of course she would try to trace them all back to their source. Of course she wanted to know.

It had soon become clear that that was no way of living. Far from bringing the comfort she desperately needed, every new piece of intelligence sent her deeper and deeper into the pit of despair his departure had put her in.

Nothing made sense anymore.

A year later she decided she was done. No more obsessively tracking every bit of gossip that went around Nottingham. No more riding into Locksley after hours to ambush servants. No more dressing up and mingling in taverns to question travellers. No more.

No more Robin.

It worked. For years it worked. Every now and then she would still hear his name whispered around town, but she had learnt not to pause, not to inquire any further –not to care.

But then she had heard the biggest news of all, and it was impossible not to care because... Because Robin was alive. One chance meeting with an old friend of her father's, a simple supper meant to catch up and suddenly Robin was alive again! It was impossible to ignore him after that.

And so she had gone back to her old ways; she had gone back to looking up when she heard his name, back to asking veiled questions to whoever she thought might have heard about him. Robin was alive and he was bound to come back; someone _had_ to know something and she was going to find it out. She was going to be ready to face him.

It had soon become clear that not much had changed during the time she hadn't been looking. Most of the stories that went around were still ridiculous and those that sounded remotely plausible were impossible to trace. If she wasn't so persevering –or stubborn–, she would have to admit that maybe what she was doing was useless. But she wasn't going to give up –not when he was so closed she could almost _feel_ him.

When this particular piece of intelligence arrived, she didn't much care at first. She looked up from the cloths she had been examining with interest, trying to see who it was that was talking –to determine how reliable a source it was–, but instinctively knew better than to keep her hopes up. The news themselves –"I hear Robin is back in England"– were vague enough that she didn't feel like pursuing the lead. Not yet, anyway.

The next time she heard anything on the matter –the very next day–, was another story.

Apparently, though the news that had reached her was that _Robin _was back on English soil, the original information was that _Much_ –Robin's ever loyal servant and friend– was back.

This was certainly a surprise. For years it had seemed as if people had simply forgotten about Much –a downside of dealing with Robin was that he usually overshadowed everyone around him–, so to hear it had been _him_ who had caught the attention of whoever it was that had started this particular rumour was certainly unexpected, but not at all discouraging. _Finally_, she thought, _something new; something different_.

Something real?

Another thing she learnt was that the starting point of this rumour was different than any other she had heard. For one, there _was_ a source –she had never been able to pinpoint the exact person who had brought the news; it was always someone's neighbour who had heard it from a cousin who in turn had heard it from a friend or something along those lines. That's all she had gotten.

Granted, it wasn't as if she knew the man who had brought the news to Nottingham, but at least she had his name. Allan A Dale, a petty thief who had could be seen around Nottingham from time to time. Not the greatest of sources, admittedly, and certainly not the most reliable by even the kindest of estimations, but it was better than not knowing: at least now she knew who to look for, should she wish to know more.

And she did –she did look for him. She wanted to talk to the man who had allegedly run into Robin only a few days ago. She wanted to ask him if he was_ sure_ that it had been him. She wanted to know where he was, what he had been doing, how long before he came back. And, above all, she wanted to ask him how he was.

_Is he still the man I knew all those years ago?_

Unfortunately for her, Sheriff Vaisey and his nobles were making it impossible for her to spend as much time on the subject of Robin as she would have liked. Gisborne was at her house almost on a daily basis and whatever free time she had from him she spent plotting and preparing for her next outing as the Nightwatchman. She kept her eyes and ears open when she was in Nottingham for Allan –or more news about Robin, for that matter–, but there was only so much she could do from her delicate position.

And so, before she knew it a week had passed and he was _there_.

There was no denying it this time. It wasn't some rumour she had heard passing by. It wasn't some outrageous story someone had made up to make their rightful master look good. This time was very simple.

Sarah broke the news to her one morning after rushing into her bedchamber a little later than usual and certainly more breathless than she had ever looked. Marian had been startled by her sudden appearance –in all the years she had worked for them, Sarah had always appeared completely in control of her own emotions; not even when Jess had been ill had she allowed herself to break down. This morning, however, she looked as far from her regular self as she could be. Her cheeks were blushed, her breathing was shallow and her eyes shone with happiness and relief –a look, Marian would later come to realize, no-one in Nottingham had sported in years.

"Sarah, what is it?" the Lady asked, jumping from her bed and rushing towards the woman who was more like an older sister than a maid to her. It was mid morning already, but the absence of her maid and a rare bout of laziness had compelled Marian to stay in bed for longer than she normally would. "Is everything okay? Has something happened to Jess?"

"Jess is fine," the woman replied. She suddenly felt really guilty for worrying her mistress like that, especially when the news she brought were far from bad. "Everything is fine," she assured her.

"What is it, then?" Marian demanded, only slightly panicked. For years she had lived in constant fear of any of her multiple secrets reaching the Sheriff's ears, so seeing Sarah like this was troubling for her.

"It's about Robin," the maid blurt out. "He's back. In Locksley."

Every single one of Marian's muscles froze into place. She had heard this before, but there was something about this time that felt different somehow. Deep down she knew –she _knew_– it to be true.

"Are you sure?" she still asked, because she _had_ to ask. She had to be sure before, before–

–before she could allow her heart to burst with joy and relief.

"I heard it from one of Gisborne's men as he was telling one of the guards at the castle," Sarah explained. "Apparently Robin just showed up out of nowhere and made a fool out of Gisborne in front of everyone on Locksley." The maid couldn't keep the smile from her face as she said this. After everything Gisborne had done, not just to those in Locksley, but to Nottingham in general, she thought it was high time someone put him in his place. The fact that it had been Robin of all people –a young man who Sarah had known since her youth and who she genuinely liked, respected and above all _missed_– who had done that was just an added bonus.

Marian received this little bit of information and stored it in her brain to be dwelt upon when she could think more clearly. She wouldn't hold it against him that he had gone after Gisborne –not yet, anyway. Not before she had given herself to appreciate the miracle that was his return.

Robin had returned to her.

"Did they say anything else? How did he look? Was he okay?"

"They didn't say, I'm sorry. But I did hear something about the man wanting to 'wipe that smug smile out of this face', so I don't think there could be much wrong with him. At least… Well, you know… At least that _sounds_ like him."

It was at that moment that Marian finally broke. Days, weeks, _years_ of worry and regret, of anger and hope, of terror and anxiety –dozens of emotions she had had to battle with every day from the moment she had sent Robin on his way –emotions she had been sure to lock up deep within her– they all came back. They swirled around her body, destroying every single wall she had put up for the past five years. Suddenly her heart felt lighter and the air around her felt fresher. Suddenly the knot at the bottom of her stomach –the one she hardly registered anymore, but had been with her for years– was gone and the hairs at the back of her neck were no longer standing on end.

She was finally free.

"It really does, doesn't it?" she muttered pensively as she plopped down on the bed, a smile that was bigger than any other smile she had ever worn on her face.

She had absolutely no desire to move, but knew she must. News about Robin's return were bound to reach her father sooner rather than later and he would surely want to check on her. She couldn't let him see her like this –no one could. It would ruin everything.

She realized suddenly that the fact that Robin was back home –she shivered slightly at the notion– didn't mean anything in the great scheme of things. Vaisey was still Vaisey and he would continue to do Vaisey-like things. So Marian needed to continue doing Marian-like things –helping people, all the while playing the part of innocent noble-woman who was completely oblivious to all things politics. The fact that Robin was alive –another shiver– didn't change this. She was her own person –once upon a time, they had been a team. Not anymore. He had left and he had made his choice. Now she was making hers.

Slowly she pulled the reins in on each and every emotion that was still dancing freely within her and set everything back to its rightful place. But she didn't lock the boxes this time; she didn't bury them down. Oh, now. She kept them, right near her heart –right where she could feel them. She would not become a shell of her old self –not this time. She would not forget her love for him, but she would certainly not forget her anger either. Or the pain he had caused her.

When Robin came, he would still find the woman he had left behind. After all, that was who she really was at her core –she wasn't going to deny that he was the one who knew her best–, but he would also find she had changed. She had had to live for the both of them and just because he was suddenly back she wasn't about to hand over the reins and be content to take a backseat as he took over her life. If he could accept that, then _maybe_ they could find a way to make it work between them. Maybe.

She really hoped they could make it work.

Half an hour later she was stepping into the living area of her home looking no different than she had looked the night before when she went to bed. She was perfectly composed, perfectly in control of her own emotions. Her relief was well hidden behind a perfectly placed mask of disdain. Her father was just coming from the outside and their eyes met briefly. One look and Sir Edward knew that she already knew what he had come inside to tell her. He was glad. He really hadn't been looking forward to being the one who broke the news to her.

That one look also revealed more to him than she would have liked him to know, though that was probably because he was expecting her to look more relaxed and generally content for once. He was pleased, but knew better than to say anything to his daughter. He would allow her to think her feelings were not written plainly on her face. It wasn't as if anyone knew her well enough to notice –well, Robin did, but he would probably be so shocked at seeing her at all and she would make such a good show of her anger that he wouldn't at first notice all that there was to notice. Hopefully.

"Our house is watched," Edward reminded her unnecessarily. It was his way of telling her that they couldn't afford to be seen with Robin, regardless of how much they both wanted to. Still, it was useless. He knew she wouldn't drop everything to run into his arms, even if Vaisey's men weren't posted by their front door.

"I know."

"Are you sure you're up to this?" he pressed just as they heard trotting in the distance.

By means of response she just walked towards the door and picked up the bow she always kept at hand for protection. She gingerly traced its curves with her fingers –remembering the first time she had shot it, how Robin had showed her where to put her hand and how to hold the arrow in place. It was his old bow –he had given it to her when he outgrew it. She couldn't help but smile when she thought of what he would say about what she was going to do.

She picked a single arrow from the quiver and didn't look at his father as she replied. He didn't need to see her face to know that she looked happier than she had looked in months.

"Oh, yeah," she said and there was a tiny trace of mischief in her tone that her father had all but forgotten that existed. "I'm sure."


End file.
